Daffodils

By Memorial Day, drifts of golden daffodils are long gone. Waves of various flowers are now culminating with rose blooms. Yet the memory remains .

Most of us in the northern climate love daffodils. They are reliably perennial, even spreading into thick patches, in sunlight or various degrees of shade. Before grass greens in the fields. Massive, interestingly shaped, more long-lasting than the earlier crocuses.  Left forgotten and untended for years, usually surviving.

My gardening wife gets a little annoyed that the residual leaf bunches clog the garden as they store energy for the next year. I dutifully tie them into tiny tidy bundles to leave her room to put in lots of annuals – which are themselves beautiful but a lot more work. For example, I never have to weed or water daffodils …

Is there a deeper meaning here? Nope. I guess I wish all introduced species acted so civilly in the ecology. Daffodils are simply a spring delight, something to cheerfully remind us that time is passing. And that the temporary joys of our life are as miraculous and wonderful as any long-term dreams .

Like all the varied displays of the seasons around here, in itself beautiful, meditative, and ready to settle me into my place in the rhythm of the years .

Note: I usually write essays a few months ahead to allow them to settle and for editing.